


Sherlock: Here With Me

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg once had it all. But they let it fall apart. Just a short, angsty Mystrade ficlet because I was having angsty Mystrade feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Can't Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> **Story Title:** Here With Me by Dido
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

'It wasn't just _me_ , Mycroft!' Greg shouted, despite he and the man he was shouting at not being alone.

It had been so hard, but he'd kept it all in. Even after seeing Mycroft at 221B before going to the crime scene. Even after seeing Mycroft at the crime scene. Even after seeing him at 221B again, and at Scotland Yard, and at the fucking killer's house, Greg had _still_ kept it bottled up.

But he couldn't do it anymore.

He'd never been really good at hiding his feelings towards Mycroft.

Mycroft looked around in that little way of his and Greg just _knew_ what he was going to say. 'Gregory, this-'

'This is as good a place as any!' Greg interrupted.

'Erm-' John tried, only for Sherlock to grab the back of his jumper.

'We need to leave.'

'What?' the doctor spluttered. 'Why?'

'They need to... _talk_ ,' Sherlock said. He looked pointedly at his brother and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

Not waiting for John to agree, Sherlock dragged him out onto the landing and slammed the door shut. There was a few seconds of hissed words before Mycroft and Greg heard their foosteps falling down the stairs.

The two were silent, just staring at each other, Greg with his hands on his hips and Mycroft staring at the floor, leaning on his umbrella. It was a familiar stance that the two had taken on years ago; Greg always staring at the younger man, and Mycroft trying to pretend it wasn't happening.

'It wasn't just me, Mycroft,' Greg repeated, though his voice was soft now.

Mycroft sighed. 'Gregory-'

'Don't _Gregory_ me,' the DI cut in. 'What we had, Mycroft, it was... I can't even...' his voice cracked a little and Mycroft finally looked up. 'You threw that all away.'

'It wasn't my fault,' Mycroft said.

Greg laughed, but it was a broken noise, hollow, and it made Mycroft's heart ache. 'Wasn't your fault?' the grey-haired man demanded. 'You were never there, Mycroft. You know how many nights I spent, laying in bed, just waitin' for you to call?' he demanded. Mycroft said nothing. 'How many dinners went wasted 'cause you couldn't be arsed to send me one fucking text? Or all the cancelled weekends, the afternoons, just... everythin', Mycroft, _everythin'_.'

'I had to work,' Mycroft said. His voice was low and Greg knew he was trying to keep himself calm. 'I had to make a name for myself, Gregory. And that meant long hours.'

'I get that- I _got_ that,' Greg said. 'But you ignored me. It was like I became just... just some random person. Just someone you occasionally came home to. I wasn't your partner, your _husband_. I was just... nothin'.'

'You were never nothing,' Mycroft tried.

Greg huffed and turned away, unable to look at Mycroft as he spoke. 'It felt that way,' he mumbled.

The two stood in silence, Greg with his back to Mycroft and Mycroft now staring at him. So many things went unsaid between them, but they were all subjects, arguments, _words_ that they'd said to each other in the past. Fighting about Mycroft not being there, about Greg working the dangerous parts of London, about Mycroft dropping everything for Sherlock and Greg flirting with random men and women.

They'd discussed, argued, ranted and thrown shit until they couldn't stand the sight of each other. Years into their marriage everything had just fallen apart. They'd tried- oh they'd tried _hard_ \- to pick up the pieces, to fix everything and make it like it had been; to get back the romantic dates, lazy mornings in bed, and fantastic sex.

But in the end they'd given up. Both had thrown in the towel and walked away; Mycroft to his dark office and a new fancy flat; Greg to Scotland Yard and a crappy place close by.

It was Mycroft who'd started their descent, who'd pushed the button that made everything begin to spiral down. But Greg had added fuel to the fire.

Greg finally inhaled deeply and Mycroft looked up sharply when he heard the tremor in the other man's voice. 'God, I miss you.'

Mycroft smiled weakly. 'I miss you too.'

The DI turned to face him and Mycroft saw tears shining in his eyes. Greg rubbed at them viciously with one hand. 'Why couldn't we make it work?' he asked.

Mycroft shrugged one shoulder but felt Greg deserved a proper answer. 'We didn't try hard enough.'

Greg nodded once- a sharp jab of his head. He wet his lips and looked down, his hands again going to his hips.

'For the record,' Mycroft said and his ex-husband looked up at him, 'I _am_ sorry.'

Greg nodded.

'I needed to reach where I am today,' Mycroft continued.

'Yeah,' Greg said. 'To prove your old man wrong.'

Mycroft didn't say anything. It was the truth and they both knew it.

Greg sighed and rubbed his face again. 'I gotta go,' he said. 'Paperwork and... ya know.'

Mycroft nodded and stepped aside so Greg would have a clear run to the door. He'd made it clear early on in their divorce that he didn't want to touch Mycroft.

But as the DI slowly made his way across 221B, he reached out and brushed his fingers along Mycroft's. The politician looked up and his light blue eyes fell on Greg's chocolate brown ones.

'Mycroft...'

'Yes?' Mycroft asked, sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

'Can... can we just... have coffee?' Greg asked.

Mycroft pursed his lips.

'Just coffee,' Greg insisted.

Mycroft was unsure. They'd "just had coffee" before. And it had always led to accusations and yelling and angry sex in the back of a car or over the couch. And nothing was ever resolved, they never moved on. The feelings and anger they felt for each other just continued to fester.

'Just coffee,' Greg repeated. 'Please?'

Mycroft hesitated before nodding slowly. 'Just coffee,' he echoed.

Greg smiled slightly and touched Mycroft's hand again before leaving. Mycroft stood in the sitting room of his brother's flat, his heart beating hard in his chest, his skin tingling from where Greg had touched him.

He wanted this time to be different. He wanted to talk to Greg, actually talk and listen and move on.

Because he'd learned long ago that his life was empty without the man he loved.


	2. I Am What I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** This was supposed to be a one-shot, but a few readers convinced me to write some more. And my muse is a sucker for praise and makes me write more. Enjoy.
> 
> {Dreamer}

The highly dreaded/anticipated "just coffee" was fast approaching. They'd both managed to find a Thursday afternoon off to meet for two hours.

Mycroft was half hoping a national crisis would come about that'd force him to reschedule or cancel altogether; it had happened in the past, after all. And Greg was constantly considering lying and saying he had a case, even if he didn't. But Mycroft would easily be able to check and see if he was telling the truth or not.

Neither man wanted to screw this up; this was a real chance for them to work out their issues and either form a tentative friendship, or- as both were praying to a higher power they didn't believe in- another relationship that was heavy on the romance... and sex.

_God_ did Greg miss the sex. He'd slept with plenty of people before Mycroft... but after that there hadn't been anyone else. Since that first date with Mycroft Holmes, all those years ago, Greg hadn't slept with anyone else. It had always been Mycroft, even after the divorce. When they ran into each other, they glared, they exchanged heated words, they fought. And then Greg would go to Mycroft's office and fuck him over his desk. Or Mycroft would turn up at Greg's flat and throw him over the sofa. Even _after_ Mycroft it was still Mycroft; it was like Greg couldn't get away.

It was the same for Mycroft. Greg had been his first, his only. He had little inclination to have sex with anyone that wasn't Gregory Lestrade.

If they were being honest with themselves, neither really _wanted_ to get away. Because it would _always_ be each other; nobody else.

And they both had to wonder just how fucked up that made them.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


An hour before he had to meet Mycroft, Greg sat at his desk finishing up paperwork on the latest case. He groaned when his office door opened, admitting Sherlock Holmes in all his scarf-upturned collar-sharp cheekbone glory, followed by John Watson. Since the whole debacle with Moriarty, Mycroft had worked tirelessly to clear Sherlock's name. That was followed by clearing Greg's, getting Sherlock and John legal PI licences, and working it out so they could consult for Scotland Yard and get paid to do so. It went a long way to helping John pay for groceries.

Before Sherlock could say anything Greg was reaching into his top desk drawer for the consulting detective's pay-check. Sherlock should have been picking it up from the front desk, but he refused to even talk to the officers who manned the station; he much preferred Greg.

'Good job,' Greg offered as Sherlock handed the check to John, who pocketed it.

'Of course,' Sherlock sniffed haughtily and Greg rolled his eyes. He didn't bother fighting back, though; he was too worried about his coffee date with Mycroft.

Not that it was a date.

Because it wasn't.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. 'What?' Greg asked.

'You're having coffee with my brother,' Sherlock stated.

Greg sighed; well, no point in denying it. 'Yeah, I am,' he nodded. John was looking at Greg with wide-eyes and the DI asked Sherlock, 'Did you tell him?'

'I... skimmed over the details,' Sherlock said vaguely.

Greg sighed again. 'What did he tell you?' he asked John.

'Erm...' the doctor hesitated. 'You and Mycroft used to be together but broke up.'

'Seriously?' Greg growled at Sherlock. 'I was married to your brother for ten years and that's all you have to say?'

'You were _married_?' John choked, eyes bulging.

'Yeah,' Greg nodded. John's gaze drifted down to the wedding ring Greg still wore. 'We were together fifteen years. I kept my ring when we got divorced,' the older man admitted. 'It was easier to avoid getting hit on if people still thought I was married.'

'And you still love Mycroft,' Sherlock added.

'Yeah, that too,' Greg muttered.

'Right...' John hummed. 'Well, ah... sorry?'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and Greg snorted. 'Yeah, thanks, John.'

'So... uh...' John hesitated.

'How long have we been separated?' Greg asked.

John nodded.

'Christ, years now,' Greg said. 'We got together when Mycroft was studying at Oxford. Got a civil partnership when we were in our twenties. Married ten years, divorced... God, almost nine years now.'

'Wow,' John said.

Greg smiled wistfully, remembering the good days of his marriage. There were plenty of them. Only, in the end, the bad days had made all that disappear.

'Not that this isn't fascinating,' Sherlock drawled, 'but are you sure it's wise to meet my brother?' he asked Greg. 'Every time you meet the same thing happens.'

'I know,' Greg said, 'but it can't hurt to try again.'

'It can hurt,' Sherlock said. 'It can hurt _very_ much.'

Greg sighed. 'Sherlock-'

'You weren't there to see him afterwards,' Sherlock interrupted.

'And who's fault was that?' Greg snapped.

'Both of yours!' Sherlock growled. Greg glared at him. 'That was the problem, _that_ is why you two split up! Neither of you were willing to admit when you were to blame! You just heaped it on the other person, argued, and then refused to work things out!'

Greg groaned and rubbed his eyes. 'Sherlock, I really don't want to have this conversation with you again.'

'If you would just listen to me none of this would have happened!' Sherlock snapped. 'You and Mycroft would still be together, and I wouldn't have to put up with two heart-broken idiots!'

With that he stomped out of Greg's office, leaving John and Greg both staring after him.

'Christ,' Greg grunted. He already had a headache building, and he hadn't even met with Mycroft yet.

'Uh... I'll just go...' John said and started to edge out of the office.

'Yeah,' Greg said and waved a dismissive hand at him.

'Um...' John hesitated before soldiering on, 'I gather that you and Mycroft meeting up usually goes wrong, somehow. So if you need to let off some steam afterwards, you want to meet for a beer later?'

Greg looked up at him.

'Just to talk, or hang out, whichever,' John shrugged. 'I'll probably need a break from Sherlock; no doubt he'll be sulking around the flat.'

Greg chuckled. 'Yeah, alright. Seven at _The Old Lion_?'

'See you then,' John smiled and let himself out, shutting the door behind him.

Greg sighed and leaned back in his chair. A glance at his watch told him he had just over half-an-hour. 'Christ, I already need a drink,' he grumbled to himself.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft signed yet another piece of paperwork and flipped the folder shut. It went on the already rather large pile in his outgoing tray and grabbed another one from his in-tray. Anthea- she seemed particularly fond of that name lately- was sitting in Mycroft's office, rather than at her desk just outside in the foyer. She had been tapping away at her BlackBerry for the better part of two hours, but Mycroft noted her glancing up at him with worried eyes when she thought she could get away with it.

Anthea was smart, and very good at her job, but Mycroft was a Holmes; he could read body language better than anybody else on the planet.

'Is something bothering you, dear?' Mycroft asked.

He noticed Anthea's shoulders jump minutely, but she was well-trained enough to have her body under control in a second. 'No, sir,' she answered politely.

Mycroft sighed. Anthea was the best assistant he had ever had, and she knew more about him than most of his superiors. She'd been working for him for six years, he'd hired her a few years after his divorce. She knew all about Gregory, had seen her boss and the DI argue and fight and kick her out to have sex in the elder Holmes' office.

'You know I'm having coffee with Gregory,' he stated. He'd added into his personal date-book, but Anthea had been informed to clear his schedule Thursday afternoon. She'd also seen the words “Coffee with G.L.” in his BlackBerry, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.

Anthea bit her bottom lip before saying, 'Sir, I'm just worried.'

'I know,' Mycroft said and looked up from his paperwork, 'but I assure you it'll just be coffee. I'm taking a company car, and James knows not to let Gregory in, and to make sure I get in myself. I have a meeting at seven that I can't miss, which is excellent incentive not to let myself get carried away.'

Anthea nodded and went back to her BlackBerry, but her eyebrows were still furrowed with worry. Mycroft smiled sadly and looked back down at his files. He was going to miss Anthea when she moved on to bigger and better things. She always worried about him, she actually _cared_ about him. Mycroft hadn't had that in a long time. Not since-

Mycroft shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. Yes, he and Gregory were trying. But past experiences told Mycroft not to get his hopes up. He and Gregory had a lot of bad history and it couldn't be wiped away by one coffee date.

But maybe it would be followed by more coffee dates, and _maybe_ they'd be able to piece together their shattered relationship. Or at least move on and become friends. Mycroft had enjoyed Gregory's friendship before they started dating. It had been an amazing experience for Mycroft, having someone who actually _wanted_ to spend time with him.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his head. He still had twenty minutes before he had to meet Gregory, and he wouldn't be doing that if he didn't get his paperwork out of the way. So he focused on the files before him, reading over them quickly and adding his signature or notes when it was needed.

But every few minutes his eyes would dart to the clock on the wall, half terrified, half willing, for the minutes to tick by.


End file.
